A Heavy Absence
by Scarlet Scribe
Summary: As the days wore on the hope of finding them grew thin. Their absence left a hole too large to handle, and he couldn't help but burden himself with their disappearance. / Weirdmageddon. Stan-centric.


_Day 1 - Nighttime_

"You girls sure you're okay with the sleeping arrangements?"

"Oh yes, they are just fine," Candy assured. She nestled herself beneath Mabel's bedsheets with a small yawn. "Thank you for letting us sleep in Mabel and Dipper's beds, Mr. Pines."

Stan waved her off, rolling his eyes. "Ah, don't mention it. But aren't you two a little cramped in that bed?"

Grenda spoke next, her deep voice booming across the attic at Stan. "We're totally alright, Mr. Pines! Candy and I sleep this way like, all the time when we have sleepovers!" She threw her huge arms around Candy's body, pulling her back against her chest. "Isn't that right, Candy?"

Candy giggled in response, and Stan took that as his cue to turn to Pacifica, who was currently taking up room in Dipper's unoccupied bed. "…And you? You aren't too bothered about sleeping in my nephew's bed, are you?"

"N-no, it's fine," Pacifica fumbled out, tripping a little on her tongue. She gnawed on her lip. "T-thank you for…this."

Stan nodded and made his way to the doorway, turning around to face them with a cough. "Well then…you girls just, uh…sleep tight, okay? If anything happens just yell and I'll be right up."

It was stiff, but the three didn't seem to notice as they chorused back their own sleepy goodnights. Stan flipped off the lights then, plunging the attic into darkness. He waited for them to settle down, then pulled the door closed with a gentle click.

Stan's hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment longer. As he stood alone outside the room a wave of thoughts suddenly swept over him, and he gripped the knob tight.

 _This is screwed up…don't know where the kids are…don't know where Ford is…apocalypse…the girls are sleeping in their beds…it's all fine…it's what they would have wanted me to do…_

Minutes passed. Stan drew in a few deep breaths through his nose, then finally made a move toward the stairs. He would check on the few survivors he had picked up that day, stay up for a few minutes longer to make sure things were okay, and then try to sleep. Not that it would come – he and whoever was watching him in the sky above knew the night would be filled with tossing and turning.

 _This is only temporary. The kids and Ford'll be back soon._

He had to hope.

…

 _Day 2 - Late Afternoon_

"Mr. Pines?"

"Hmm?" Stan turned from the piles of paper and math in front of him to face Candy and Grenda. "What is it, girls? Multi-bear didn't clog the toilet again, did he?"

"No, it is not that," Candy spoke. She shared a look with Grenda next to her. The two were holding something behind their backs, something hidden from Stan's view.

"We have something we want to give you!" Grenda shouted.

"We kind of just made it out of whatever we could find," Candy said, shrugging shyly. "But the others thought it was a good idea, so…we hope you like it." With a flourish, the two brought forward their creation for Stan to see.

His eyes widened. In the girls' hands was a large sash with the word 'chief' written across the front. It looked as if it had been cut from tablecloth. The edges were jagged and tattered like the thing had been snipped away with scissors. But the way the girls were looking at him, the way the word 'chief' was so boldly displayed on the front…

Stan didn't deserve to be called a chief.

That was the first thought that came to his mind. How could he be called a chief when he couldn't even protect his own family? His brother who he had _just_ gotten back from thirty years of hell? The children he was supposed to take care of for the summer? He had so carelessly let them slip from his grasp, and now they were gone, hurt, possibly even worse…

"Mr. Pines? Do you like it?"

Grenda's voice shook Stan out of his stupor. He blinked himself back to reality to see that Candy and Grenda were still holding out the sash. They glanced back and forth between each other, biting their lips in uncertainty.

"Girls…" Stan finally spoke, reaching out to take the sash in his hands. It felt heavy in his hold. "I…I don't know what to say…" He stood and slipped it over his head, fez and all, surprised to find that it was in no way as heavy as it had felt when he was holding it. It settled lightly on his tired frame, fitting snugly against his body. "How do I look?"

"Like a true leader," Candy commented. Grenda nodded enthusiastically.

"Ah, thanks girls," Stan said, packing as much sincerity into the thank-you as he could. He sat back down and picked up the calculator laying in front of him, punching in a few random numbers. He hoped it would distract him from the burning feeling stirring in his gut. "But you ah…you didn't have to do this, you know."

"Are you kidding me, Mr. Pines?" Grenda said disbelievingly. "It's the end of the world and you brought a ton of townsfolk into your home even though you didn't have to. You let that dumb unicorn stay, you got that bear with all the heads and that minotaur-guy to make up…you even got _Pacifica Northwest_ to stay here! You're like, a total leader!"

"Yes, it was the least we could do," Candy added, "for all you've done for us."

Stan remained silent, biting back the _"not really"_ that wanted to slip past his teeth.

"Okay, well…I've got a lot of work to do making sure the survivors out there don't go hungry," he declared, putting on a frown and shooing them away. "Why don't you two go and, I dunno, make some weapons or some armor for yourself? That sounds like something two girls could do."

" _I'm gonna make a spear!"_ Grenda shouted, pumping her fist in the air. She grabbed Candy's arm, practically dragging her out of the room.

Stan let a small grin crack his face, but it faded as quickly as it came. As their footsteps receded he eyed the special cabinet he kept locked up in the corner of the kitchen. For a split-second his mind considered what was inside it, but he quickly shook the tempting thought away and focused his attention back to his work.

He was the leader. He would be no use to anyone drunk.

…

"You think it is your fault your family is missing, don't you?"

"What?"

"It is actually quite obvious. I can tell you blame yourself for their disappearance. You act like things are okay, but they are not."

"…"

"You're good at reading minds, aren't you, kid?"

"I have been told."

…

 _Day 3 - Nighttime_

The flashlight in Stan's hand went dim, flickered, and then spluttered out for the third time in a row, causing him to bite back a curse.

Broken glass and debris crunched beneath Stan's feet as he walked through the main strip of town. The flashlight had been flickering on and off for a while now, grating hard on his already-worn nerves. He had put the only batteries he could find that weren't corroded or shot in it, and if it didn't work, he had no alternative light source.

A few smacks and mumbles later the flashlight blinked to life again. Stan scowled and aimed it forward, stepping over what was once the bumper of a car. Over the course of days the entire town had turned into a war-zone. Most buildings were either destroyed, on fire, or both. Wreckage littered the ground like snow. Scorch marks marred the roads. Gravity Falls was a shell of its former self, broken far beyond repair or recognition. It didn't shake him in the slightest though as he trudged through the ruins of town.

"Dipper? Mabel?" he called down the stretch of a dark alley, casting his light down it. He swallowed dryly. "Ford?"

Stan received no response but the echoing of his own voice.

He had been reduced to a broken record. Names, it was all he had been calling out for hours. Each plea left his throat full of raw feeling, and each time only the empty sound of his own failure met him back. Three days in and late into the night he was _still_ alone. What he wouldn't give for one of them to pop out from behind a broken piece of building, or to hear one of their voices call back to him...

Stan looked up to the sky. Even in the middle of the night it somehow managed to bleed that awful burnt orange. His eyes then flitted to the tear right through the center. Creatures at random were still spilling out of it, and right below it that menacing black pyramid hung, blocking out any semblance of a moon.

He focused his gaze forward again, and what he saw made his heart skip a beat.

One of those eyeball bats was flapping in his direction, its shining pupil focused solely on him. With a yelp Stan spun on his heel, feet slapping against the cracked concrete as he charged toward the nearest fence. He had to stop himself from running into it at the speed he was moving. Planting his feet against it, he hoisted himself up and over the top just in the nick of time. He landed rather hard on the other side, pressing himself to it, his breath stilling in his throat.

Silence. The creature blinked and, not registering his appearance anymore, turned away. Stan somewhat relaxed then, panting and clutching his chest. For a moment he could only stare ahead, bug-eyed and out of breath as he leaned back against the fence. A glance let him know he was in another alleyway, and a rotten smell told him he was planted right next to a dumpster.

Despite it all the old man let out a dry chuckle. Funny how much that fit him.

"I'm a failure," he whispered to himself, shaking his head. "Couldn't even protect my own family. Couldn't even…couldn't even keep 'em safe…"

Stan slumped over, resting his face in his hands. All of the determination crumbled and drained from him like water from a faucet. What remained was a painful reminder of everything that had happened over the course of the last few days.

All of the times he had walked past the attic late at night and peered in, his mind fooling him into thinking that just for a second it was Dipper and Mabel in their beds and not the girls. All of the times he had expected them to walk down the stairs and greet him. All of the scrutiny he had put himself under.

His back ached. The bruise on his cheek swelled. And his heart felt hollow.

The flashlight flickered out.

…

" _Kids?"_

Stan couldn't believe his eyes. He had just about given up searching. He had nearly let himself think that they were gone for good. But now here they were with Soos and Wendy right behind them, all wielding weapons of their own. They were covered head to toe in bruises but they were alright, they were right _there,_ and—

"Grunkle Stan!"

Mabel was the one to break the silence. She rushed forward as everyone stared and threw her small arms around Stan's torso, burying her face in his suit jacket. The old man stood frozen in place, eyes darting back and forth between the survivors and the girl standing in front of him.

Slowly, but surely, Stan's muscles loosened. He brought down his arms, bat slipping from his grasp. It clattered loudly against the ground, and that was when he finally came undone. Stan fell to his knees and pulled his niece into an embrace so tight she squeaked in surprise and wriggled.

"Hey, hey, Grunkle Stan, it's okay!" she reassured, winding her arm out from his constricting embrace to pat his elbow. "We're glad to see you too!"

The patter of sneakers signaled Dipper's approach. Stan didn't hesitate to pull him into the hug as well, and soon he had his arms around both of them, holding them tight. Soos and Wendy only watched from the threshold, smiling warmly at the reunion.

"Hey, woah, Grunkle Stan! Are you…are you feeling okay?" Dipper asked. "You're being…oddly affectionate right now. Also, you're kind of strangling me…"

"Of course m'okay," he responded, his voice muffled by the fabric of Mabel's sweater. "M'better than ever, actually."

They stayed like that for minutes. No one had the heart to break them up.

And neither of the Pines had anything to say.

* * *

A/N: Just wait until he finds out about Ford.

I am going to cry so much after the finale is over. I love this show to pieces, and I'm not going to stop writing for it after it ends. Happy New Years everyone!


End file.
